Instinctively, Clarisse snuggled closer to Joseph, kissing his chest and smiling as his arm curled sleepily around her. She brushed a stray tear from her eye and sighed deeply. This was hard. Dredging up memories so meticulously suppressed for so very long. Even nearly two years on, remembering Rupert's last days made her tense and uncharacteristically emotional. And yet she had made her peace with him, and with herself. Over time, the feelings had shifted gradually from self-disgust and the most acute guilt to a bearable sense of regret. Not of her actions, but of the situation. She was not proud of how she had behaved, but she realised now that she could not honestly say that she would change what had happened, maybe only the way in which it unfolded. She had become the Queen she knew he would have been proud of. It was a difficult feeling to negotiate, but each day after his death it had become easier.

But with Joseph…she sighed, looking up at his relaxed face, tracing her finger along his collarbone… with Joseph it had taken longer. Much longer.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

After their meeting in her office, several weeks passed before Clarisse and Joseph found themselves alone in each other's company. She had taken care to busy herself with matters of state, throwing herself into the solitude that long hours of paperwork offered. She was almost unbearably lonely. With her husband dead and her sons away, she found herself alone in the large palace. She had avoided Joseph with a precision that even surprised herself. The staff were distant, seemingly struggling to know how to address her, and her 'friends' existed only in a whirlwind of parties to which she no longer felt the energy to attend. She felt as though she were vanishing.

Joseph, on the other hand, had been torn, as ever, between duty and his own sanity. It was his job to watch her, and yet it was clear that was the last thing she wanted. He spent hours in the security room, watching her work, hating himself for this self-induced torture, and yet unable to tear himself away from the screens. She was ever-present, imprinted on his mind, haunting his dreams.

They had met purely by chance. It was late, and Clarisse had wandered down to the music room to play the piano. She hadn't played for months, but tonight she had felt the urge. Opening the lid, she sat down carefully on the stool, flexing her fingers as she did so. Placing her hands on the keys, she was struck by their coolness. Closing her eyes, she began to play, the first movement of Images I by Debussy, one of her mother's favourite pieces. She practically knew the difficult piece backwards, and her fingers quickly relaxed and began coaxing the melody across the room and out into the deserted hallway. Her mind cleared and for a precious moment she lost herself in the liquid notes.

Joseph walked quietly down the various corridors of the palace, one by one switching out the lights. It was not his usual duty, but recently he had taken to performing it. At this time of the night there was no one to interrupt him, to question him…to expect him to give a damn. He turned and heard the faint sounds of the piano being played in the room at the far end of the corridor. The door was ajar and the light spilled out into the now darkened corridor. He was puzzled for a moment, and then grew irritated. The music was delicate and effortless, drifting out along the halls. And it threatened to break him. He growled, under his breath, making his way towards the door, in search of the culprit. Reaching it, however, he was transfixed by the sight that met his eyes. It was her, dressed in a pale blue silk dressing gown, her eyes shut, her fingers caressing the piano. For a moment he hesitated, unable to move, and yet painfully aware that he could not stay, must not stay. He too closed his eyes, and swallowing hard, fought back the pain he had been ignoring all week. Recomposing himself, he sighed inaudibly and gently pulled the door shut.

The music stopped. "Hello?"

He didn't reply, and wondered for a split second if he could make a run for it. Not a chance, and it would look so much worse. He placed a shaky hand back on the door and pushed it open a little.

Seeing the familiar silhouette, Clarisse started a little, but immediately checked herself. She nodded, and issued a curt "Good evening, Joseph"

He nodded back and, with equal restraint muttered "Your majesty". The disappointment in his eyes though was unmistakeable, and she felt her heart break a little more. She decided not to ask what he had been doing…it was best not to ask questions she couldn't bring herself to hear the answers to.

"I…"

"I…"

Their eyes met, and both smiled nervously, their bodies again betraying them. She nodded again, asking him to continue,

"I…I was wondering how you were." He stopped, the words suddenly seeming inadequate. He looked up at her again, and searched her eyes. She turned back to the piano and setting the lid down gently she sighed. How could she answer such a question? How could she even begin to describe how her world had rapidly disintegrated in the past few weeks to nothing? How she hated him for doing this to her, for the fact that in spite of it all the pain, indeed, because of it all, she knew that she would always love him? And yet how could she tell him that in spite of this she must not give in? He would never understand her reasons, she could not expect him to understand them…

"I'm fine"

He looked up, his mind chastising him for having even thought she might have said something else. She wouldn't even look at him. She was simply waiting for him to leave. He straightened out his jacket and turned to the door, pausing only to reply,

"Of course you are."

And then he was gone.

The moment he left, she turned to the door. He had closed it behind him. Folding her arms on the top of the piano, she laid her head down and sighed deeply. She wondered how long she could maintain this cool exterior, how long it would be before she broke in front of him. Perhaps she had been naïve in thinking she could do this? She rubbed the bridge of her nose, a headache once again beginning to form. But, she reminded herself, it was not a question of whether she could or couldn't do it…she had to.

Another three weeks went by without them hardly meeting. It was ironic. Before they had known each other's movements so intimately, precisely so they could steal those fleeting moments together…now they employed their knowledge in an elaborate dance of avoidance.

It was a Sunday evening, and Clarisse was reading in her private study. She was trying to learn Italian and had taken to spending her evenings reading, albeit very slowly, some of the classics. This particular evening, she'd started on Castiglione's Libro del Cortegiano, and was finding it rather difficult. With a sigh, she picked up the dictionary once again…

Glancing at her watch, she was slightly surprised by the soft knock on the door. She knew that Charlotte had already left and she doubted it was one of the maids.

"Come in"

He stepped into the room, somewhat gingerly, and it suddenly hit him that he hadn't set foot in her private suite since the night of Rupert's death.

"Good evening, your Majesty. I was wondering if you could spare me a minute?"

She eyed him cautiously, setting down her book and carefully marking the page. She decided not to stand, but to remain seated at her desk. Behind her desk. She gestured for him to sit down, which he did, with obvious unease.

"What can I do, Joseph?" Instantly she regretted her turn of phrase, and looked away from him, slipping off her glasses, rearranging the papers on her desk distractedly.

He cleared his throat and began,

"It's the Prince of Norway's visit, next week…we need to discuss the security arrangements. I'm afraid I won't be able to organise my staff until I have his itinerary."

"I see. Well, Charlotte should have everything finished by Monday afternoon. Will that be soon enough for you to make arrangements?"

He nodded, meeting her gaze for a moment, allowing himself a half-smile. Her eyes softened, almost imperceptibly, but it was enough.

"Was that all, Joseph?"

He snapped back to reality and nodded again. He stood, glancing down as he did so at the book on her desk. She reached for the dictionary…conversation over. He looked back to her face and swallowed,

"Good night, your Majesty."

He turned then, and moved towards the open door. Her voice made him stop,

"Joseph, do you happen to know what the words 'sempre' and 'medesimo' mean?"

He smiled to himself, and turned back, "The first means 'always', always and the second means 'the same'."

She looked up for a second, unable to avoid his eyes, and nodded.

"Thank you, Joseph…that will be all. Goodnight."

"Good night, your Majesty."

A/N OK, well it's getting slightly more cheery…at least they're not screaming at each other anymore! In the next instalment, Joe's going to come to some important decisions…it's not just going to be Clarisse who gets to pull all the strings in this non-relationship!